


On the Saving of Worlds

by fruitbattery



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: D&D AU, Found Family, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, mind the description
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23230639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitbattery/pseuds/fruitbattery
Summary: The story of a ragtag band of adventurers and how they stumble their way into saving the world.Or; one of the more beloved stories in this galaxy and beyond.The Adventure Zone: Balance AU.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40
Collections: Stowaways' Shenanigans





	On the Saving of Worlds

**Author's Note:**

> Please note! Levels of correspondence between Mechanisms characters and Balance characters will fluctuate violently. Any parallels drawn are likely intentional, but they may not all be drawn to the "right" characters. Also, plot points will change. That's inevitable. I promise I know the story!
> 
> Thank you to orcamermaids from the discord for beta-ing!
> 
> More tags may get added as the fic continues– up to and including archive warnings– but nothing completely out of line with the world of TAZ Balance. The rating may change to Teen, but not to Mature or Explicit.

There are very few stories in this world that do not deserve to be told. For better or for worse, humankind is predisposed towards storytelling. No one is exactly sure why; many theories have been tossed out over the millenia, but they all seem to boil down to the same basic concept: stories are a way to connect with other people, and what are we without that chance? The instinct to light a nice, crackling fire, and to spin tales of lands far-off and quite near? To speak of mystic peoples long forgotten, or recount the exploits of the very audience listening in so raptly?

The answer, dear reader, is that we are nothing at all.

One particular story, however, merits telling over and over again, according to the collective consciousnesses of all who hear it. Echoes of this tale have reached far and wide– to the far-flung systems of the Outer Sectors, the wastes of the Rust Belt asteroids, even into the fiery depths of the volcano planet Cham, where the salamanders scuttle. It is the tale of a ragtag band of adventurers who call themselves the Mechanisms, and how they stumbled into saving the world.

Our tale begins much smaller than that, however. It begins on a small, winding dirt road on the sleepy little planet of Faerûn. Now, this planet, it runs a little differently to the rest of the galaxy. It’s a beautiful place– got no shortage of sweeping mountain ranges, soaring waterfalls, lush forests and the like– but the world works a little differently here. Here, wizards build towers to the sky, and spend their days working out new spells or killing invading monsters, depending on their personal style. Here, the gods are just a bit closer, and a few chosen individuals roam the lands as conduits of their power. Here, too, you might find a higher than normal concentration of prime physical specimens– people who train all their days, hoping for a shot at glory, and many who’ve achieved it.

See, this planet is a magical little place. And even more magical are the people we’re about to meet. You see, on this little road, winding between the cities of Neverwinter and Phandalin, there’s a humble covered cart winding its way southeast. It’s got all the trappings– a charming, starched, bleached-white canvas top stretched over four wooden hoops (a bit old-fashioned for that particular section of the galaxy, but who’s anyone else to judge what works?), and underneath, some crates of supplies. Generic supplies and in low quantities, surely not anything that the supplier couldn’t afford to replace if the wagon got jacked while on the road.

But if that supplier were only worried about getting their own goods through to Phandalin, well, we wouldn’t be here, now would we? Because the last important thing in that cart are the three adventurers currently lounging on and around the crates of supplies. 

The driver cuts an imposing figure at first glance, which is rather undermined by the heated argument they seem to be distracted by. Their red hair and lipstick are stark against their dark skin and coat, and their hand is clutching the reins of two incredibly beleaguered-looking horses. The blackened, gnarled walking stick laying next to them in the seat practically thrums with arcane energy, but despite the impassioned nature of their shouting, it stays firmly in place and out of their hands.

The current object of their shouting is lounging back on one elbow, casually sharpening a dagger on a small whetstone. His businesslike leather tunic clashes a bit with his billowing purple pants, but he’s almost pulling it off. Almost. His hair is scruffy and unkempt, and the five or six belts buckled around his torso, both over and under the tunic, carry a wide assortment of pockets and pouches.

“Really, Ashes, I don’t see why ‘water is wet’ and ‘fire is hot’ aren’t basically the same statement.” 

The driver– Ashes– takes a deep breath. “Because, Jonny, ‘fire is hot’ is pretty obvious! ‘Hot’ has an actual definition! But with ‘wet’, we can’t seem to decide whether its definition requires it to be something other than water!”

“Ashes, that’s a circular argument. You’re saying that ‘water is wet’ is confusing because people are confused about it. Besides, where does something change from ‘warm’ to ‘hot’ anyway?” This from the cart’s third occupant: a person in a long brown coat, sitting with his back against the rear support for the canvas top. His lean stature nevertheless betrays some serious muscle, and his long brown hair is flowing slightly out the open back of the cart. He sounds as if he’s been listening to this argument for three too many hours. “Can you two please find something different to argue about?”

Ashes twists around in their seat to fix him with a glare. “Stay out of this, Timothy.”

The man shudders dramatically. “Ugh, don’t call me Timothy, gods. My mother called me Timothy.”

Jonny snorts. “Please. You say that as if Ashes isn’t the party parent.”

This time Ashes is ready, and they draw a bit of jerky out of their pouch to flick at Jonny. He tries to catch it in his mouth, fails, then attempts to snatch it off the floor with the hand still holding the dagger he’s been sharpening. He retrieves the meat, but slashes a large tear in the canvas by accident as well. Ashes sighs.

“Please, Jonny, stop damaging the goods we’re supposed to deliver undamaged so this dude actually hires us! For the love of Pelor! The one thing we were supposed to not do!”

Jonny rolls his eyes. “He never said we were supposed to return the cart undamaged, Ashes, just the goods. Relax.”

“Yes, we were! The cart is his property, D’Ville!”

“When did he specify that? When?”

From the back of the cart, Tim pipes up. “Uh, guys?”

Simultaneously, Ashes and Jonny turn to him and spit out, “What?”

Tim raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, hey. Ashes, look back at the road. We should probably stop.”

Ashes turns back to the road, and immediately pulls hard on the reins. The horses stop short, somehow conveying worry. Honestly, worry is pretty appropriate right about now, because about 100 feet down the road, a pair of horses are lying still and unmoving. Blood is pooling from what appear to be several arrow wounds each, and their riders are nowhere to be seen.

“Well, shit,” sighs Tim, hefting his giant axe over his shoulder and hopping out the back of the cart as soon as it stops. He’s hot on the heels of Ashes, who grips their staff as they jump out of their seat, landing on their feet on the hard-packed dirt. Jonny lazily pushes himself up from the boxes he’s been laying on and saunters after, unsheathing a harmonica from one of his many, many belt pouches and clutching it in one hand. By the time he catches up with the other two, they’re already examining the horses.

Ashes has just pulled out a map case from one of the saddlebags when they cry out, an arrow suddenly sticking out of their leg, which immediately buckles. Jonny and Tim whip around in the direction the arrow came from, and see four goblins emerging from the bushes, quickly surrounding them on three sides with the wagon on the fourth.

Everything goes a bit blurry, all at once. We see Tim take out his axe and separate one goblin from, well, itself. Ashes’s hands light on fire, and a small ball of flame flies at the second of the goblins, and Jonny quickly draws a few cards from a deck on his belt and casts them at a third, whose neck bursts with crystalline cold. It’s pretty safe to say that the goblins do not have a good time, in the six or so seconds before they all die horribly.

As the three intrepid adventurers catch their breath, the fourth goblin takes their chance and slinks back into the shadow of the brush. They try to be slick about it, but after a few seconds, Ashes cottons on to the sound of rustling leaves. 

“Y’all, one’s getting away!”

Our heroes, as it turns out, are fast, but not fast enough to catch this one wily foe. Human-sized as they are, with human legs, this tiny goblin happens to know this particular section of underbrush better than they do, and it’s not long before they lose track of them. This goblin, however, is also apparently not that smart with their escape strategy, because after another minute of running straight ahead, the party burst into a clearing occupied with the most obvious entrance to an Evil Goblin Lair that has quite possibly ever existed. 

The cave is dark inside, so Ashes lights their hands on fire to see by as soon as they get inside. Jonny also has torches, but really, where’s the fun in that? And so, the party heads into the lair. Pretty soon, the stone passage slopes steeply down, and also gets much, much narrower. So what is a party to do?

“You go first.”

“Jonny, I’m the physically weakest member of this party. I’m going in the middle.” Ashes’s face is lit ominously by the glow of their hands. Jonny decides not to push it.

“Alright, Tim, you go first.”

“No fuckin’ way am I going in front, I don’t want you in back! What if this is another ambush? What are you gonna do, toot your harmonica at them?”

Jonny’s voice lowers to an unearthly growl. “I’ll have you know, I think you’re–”

“Cool it.” Ashes steps in between the men, their hands still lit by fire. Tim brings his hand to his forehead in confusion, rubbing away a phantom headache.

When the group heads into the tunnel a minute later, Jonny is in front. 

The slope evens out after a short walk, and a short while after that, the passage opens back up in all dimensions. The most prominent feature of the small cavern they find themselves in is a stone bridge connecting two openings in the wall above them, with a single goblinoid figure atop it.

“Halt! Who goes there!”

Now, Tim has never been the brains of this particular group. Granted, he hasn’t had much chance to be, given they’ve only been adventuring together for about two days, but he has definitely not proven himself in that time. 

“Well, uh, I’m Tim, this is Ashes, and, um–”

A burst of flame from Ashes’s hands sends the figure tumbling off the bridge, hitting the ground with a crack.

“Timothy. We need to talk about what questions you answer and what questions you don’t.”

He hangs his head. “Right. Yep. Sorry.” 

So the party splits up: never a good idea, but it works out in the end. Tim boosts Ashes up the bridge, and Jonny doesn’t stick around to wait for them to fall on their ass a half dozen times before starting to explore further up the tunnel. They meet back up eventually, and if the whole cave escapade ends with them riding a huge wave out of the cave entrance, mysterious unconscious woman in tow, and Tim covered in bite marks, well, then that’s a story for another day.

The woman’s name is Ari, and she is beat to shit and unresponsive. Once Jonny uses one of his precious spell slots to heal her, though, she seems fine, although she’s not much help. Grumpy as all hell, for one thing, and for another, seems really agitated about some…. map? Ashes is the nicest to her, so it’s Ashes who she tells, “I was the bodyguard for Gundren Rockseeker, who I’m pretty sure was your contact? Yes?” 

Ashes nods in confirmation. “We were delivering him some supplies when we came across your horses. Where is Gundren?”

Ari’s face grows even more solemn. “I’m not sure. The goblins said something about the Sevens, which could mean…”

Ashes pales. “Like, the gang?” They actually back away a few steps on instinct, before taking a calming breath and pushing through. “Do you think they’re delivering him to their… lair? Hideout? To them, I mean.” 

They’re agitated as all hell, and Ari notices. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s OK, though, because the map to their lair won’t fucking work now, and I don’t even fucking have it anymore!”

Tim’s been hovering a few paces back, but he pipes up at this point. “We, uh. We might have it.” The admission earns him an elbow to the ribs from Jonny, who quickly sidesteps Tim’s reciprocal elbow, but Ashes looks thoughtful. They reach into their bag and pull out the map case. 

“Here, is this it?”

Ari’s eyes light up. “Yes! Thank gods. Now if only…” she trails off.

Ashes’s tone is gentle, but they can’t quite hide their impatience. “If only what?”

Ari sighs. “Well, the map has a rather… gruesome method of activation.”

Tim and Jonny share a confused look, and this time it’s Jonny who speaks. “Activation? It’s a map, Ari.”

She shakes her head. “Take it out and look at it, then.”

Tim opens the map case to find a blank piece of parchment. He looks at it in confusion. Jonny gets a step farther, turning it over to check the back, but there’s nothing there either. Ari sighs.

“It needs the blood of a gang member to activate it, and I haven’t met a Seven in, well… if I met one ever again it would be too soon. Which, thank god, they haven’t been around or in operation for five years or so…”

None of the other three are watching as Ashes nicks their finger on their small blade, walks up, and touches their bleeding fingertip to the parchment. They’re all watching, though, as the drop of blood spreads, forming lines of roads, trees, mountains, even a fairly good legend. The three of them stare in confusion at Ashes, who stares in turn at their feet.

“...Ashes?” Jonny sounds almost awestruck at this piece of information he hasn’t known about.

They don’t look up from the ground as Ari pores excitedly over the map, now complete in her hands for the first time in longer than the other three can know. Her nose stays buried in it as the now four-person party walks back to the cart, a fairly leisurely walk now in the absence of a chase, and board it, before setting off once again for the little town of Phandalin.


End file.
